


Drive

by vesper_house



Series: Morning Comes [5]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice, DCU (Movies), Superman - All Media Types
Genre: "let you put your hands on me in my skin-tight jeans be your teenage dream tonight", Car Sex, M/M, Oral Sex, Porn with Feelings, they're just cute af all right
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-08
Updated: 2017-01-08
Packaged: 2018-09-15 20:21:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9254966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vesper_house/pseuds/vesper_house
Summary: They go out on a real date. Sort of.





	

It is not like Clark would imagine it to happen.

He runs quickly to the glass door, blinded by the heavy drops of rain smudged on his glasses. Bruce does not want Superman to show up in Gotham, especially around the Wayne demesne, so Clark rents a different car on every visit and acts as normal as possible – forgetting to take the umbrella included. Everything is blurry, he is soaking wet, and the immaculate wooden panels probably deserve better.

“Hi, I’m here!” He calls out softly once he is inside. “Good evening, mister Kent,” Alfred enters the room like a cat, almost making him jump, “I’m sorry to inform you that master Bruce is still preoccupied with his work downstairs.”

Clark takes off the glasses, wishing for the ground to open up under his feet. This feels oddly similar to sneaking into high school sweetheart’s room through a window and getting caught by their parents. Although it is not like that at all, of course not, they are both grown men who had sex on every surface in this house, _oh no, no, don’t think about it, don’t think about it now._ “Hi,” Clark squeals from the very vivid imaginaries clouding his brain, “Alfred, I presume?”

“Correct, sir,” Alfred confirms indifferently. “Allow me to help you with your coat.”

“It’s fine, I’m all right, really,” Clark mumbles, “it’s so great to finally meet you in person!” The only thing worse than his awkwardness is that he is _aware_ of his awkwardness but cannot help his behavior. Alfred, bless his heart, is made of different cloth. “Likewise,” he offers Clark a small smile. The butler embodies the dated definition of a gentleman: someone who makes sure that the people in his company are comfortable, no matter what the situation brings. Clark is so fascinated by the man’s peculiar blend of ease and reserve that he does not even notice when he gets seated on the sofa – mostly dry, relaxed, talking about the work at the Planet with a steaming mug of tea in hand. 

“I remember meeting mister White,” Alfred says, dropping more wood into the fireplace. “Mind like a gunshot, wouldn’t you say?”

“You two have met?” Clark would pay good money to be a fly on the wall in that room. “Can I ask when was that?”

“Oh, years ago. Sometime after the tragedy, someone conducted a smear campaign against the late Mrs. Wayne. Despicable individual. I had to ask for a few favors to spare master Bruce more pain.” He takes a sip from his cup and hums very quietly: “Results vary.”

With a sheer dose of embarrassment, Clark finally realizes why it felt so weird to meet Alfred the way he did: it is because despite the lack of the blood bonds, the man in front of him is actually Bruce’s father, and something about that awakens memories of his own guardian with whom he shared nothing, but who was more than happy to be his family until the very last breath.

“Whatever he says, don’t listen to him,” Bruce comes in soundlessly. _Jesus Christ, next time I’m gonna be fully alert the minute I walk in here,_ Clark thinks, completely startled. “Alfred likes to paint me in dark colors.”

“Not without good evidence,” Alfred says wryly and gets up from his seat. “Is there anything else I could do for you?”

“No, we’re good. I’ll see you tomorrow at lunch time.”

“As you wish, sir.” The old man picks up his coat and a very stylish umbrella, wishing them good night as he walks out the door. “That went… swimmingly,” Clark says with a tiny hint of irony. “Yeah, I guess,” looks like Bruce is just as eager to change the subject as he is. It is quite soothing to know that even danger-loving billionaires can be awkward around their father figures. “There are some clothes for you if you wanna change,” Bruce says matter-of-factly. “Thanks but I don’t think your clothes will fit.”

“I don’t mean my clothes,” Bruce frowns, “you’ve got your own in the closet.”

“What?”

“It would be suspicious for you to arrive in Gotham with a travel bag on regular basis. One might wonder where are you staying.”

Of course Bruce would not offer Clark to have a drawer and a toothbrush at his place: oh no, that would be _personal._ Instead he gives him an entire wardrobe, which includes a change of day clothes, underwear, socks, workout clothes, a suit, a dress shirt and a matching tie, a sweater, a coat, and three pairs of shoes. Everything fits like a dream, labeled by Calvin Klein and Ralph Lauren. “This is too much,” Clark says firmly right after he recovers from the initial shock. “They’re just spares,” Bruce occupies the desk, busy with typing on his laptop. “I was wondering if it’s possible to make a copy of your Kryptonian suit just in case. I’d like to have a closer look at the fabric,” he adds in a casual tone.

Maybe it is sweet of him. Thoughtful. Maybe Bruce just wants to make his boyfriend feel welcomed. It is entirely possible that Clark is reading too much into this, but something about the gift and the atmosphere of this evening is deeply disgruntling. “I’m serious. You’ve spent too much on all of this, I can’t accept that.”

“It’s just clothes,” Bruce says dismissively, despite the fact that he knows, they _both_ know that it is not and it will never be “just clothes”. The financial disparity between the two of them is always an elephant in the room. Clark gets closer and gently shuts down the laptop’s lid, trying to make himself heard without blowing this out of proportion. “I’m not one of your pretty girls. I’m not a rent boy. You don’t have to buy me like that.”

“That wasn’t my intention,” Bruce is already in the defensive mode. Spiked. “I know,” Clark puts on a softer tone, “but this… This is just too expensive. I’m thankful but don’t… just don’t do that anymore, okay?”

“Okay,” Bruce agrees, if a bit reluctantly. _Good, because I really wanna kiss you and a fight would come in the way._ Clark gets distracted by the stubble on Bruce’s face. The man probably did not shave for a couple of days. “Rough week?”

“I’ve had worse,” Bruce says calmly, gets up from his seat, then finally closes the distance between them by grabbing Clark by the neck. He pulls him in for a kiss, so sweet and sudden, the kind of kiss that makes Clark shake inside and whimper helplessly. Oh, he waited for this, carried the need under his skin like a fever. Bruce pinches his nipple through the shirt, his lips warm, stained with coffee and so, so good.

“Did you pick them up by yourself?” Clark asks, enjoying the feel of manly stubble currently rubbing at his Adam’s apple. “My stylist did,” Bruce sucks gently on his pulse point, “but I knew the right size.”

“Aren’t you observant,” Clark kisses him on the lips again, cradling his face. An unwelcome thought ruins the moment: “Bruce… Can Alfred see us?” And now, if the intense grimace is anything to go by, the moment is ruined for Bruce as well. “Yes, he can because he isn’t blind. Is he watching us? No.”

“Does… does he live somewhere nearby?” Bruce shakes his head, frustrated. “Don’t think about Alfred, all right?” A nod, and then another attempt to get back into the mood. “I want you to come in my mouth,” Bruce whispers seductively into Clark’s ear and yeah, that definitely helps to get things moving in the right direction. He moans when he gets pushed against a glass wall, their frantic kisses full of biting and scratching.

Clark wanted this to be different… slower. Hoped for them to be nude on the bed, for caresses and gentle touches. But it is too hard to stop Bruce from getting it the way he wants. It is so hot to see such a powerful man on his knees, the top of his head next to Clark’s belly. Bruce squeezes his crotch, rough, demanding, his teeth scraping at the hip bone. The raindrops smash on the glass as the storm reaches its most violent phase. If they wanted to, they could just reach out and feel it on their bodies. But Bruce is so into giving pleasure that even an earthquake would not distract him now: he frees Clark’s cock so he can leave a trail of kisses on the entire length, stroking it slowly before wrapping his lips around the tip. “Oh god,” Clark sighs. He puts one hand on Bruce’s head, the other keeping his shirt hoicked up. Eyes closed, he focuses only on the moist warmth around his erection, letting himself get lost in the sensation. Bruce does not stop to catch breath – he goes on and on until Clark is getting close to nearing completion. That is exactly what Bruce wants: to feel the hot seed on his tongue and swallow it all, he said so himself, and that knowledge makes Clark weak in the knees. “I’m close…” Bruce moves his palms to Clark’s ass, clasps it tightly and takes his dick all the way down. Now Clark is really losing it, whispering profanities, not knowing what to do with his hands. He comes with a languid _aaah,_ like he has been holding tension in his body for a long time and finally got a chance to release it.

True to his words, Bruce drinks every drop he is given. Spit is dripping from his chin when he gets up and moves away. Clark catches his wrist, surprised by the sudden departure. “Hey… I could return the favor you know.”

“Not gonna happen, Kal,” Bruce kisses his cheek, oddly innocent compared to what he was doing with that mouth minutes earlier. “Too tired.”

“Okay,” Clark pulls up his pants, trying to sound casual. It is clear now why they did not even reach the bed. “Wanna go to sleep?”

“I’d love to eat first,” Bruce says, “but I think the fridge is empty. Alfred and I… we were busy.”

“Can you order takeout here? Pizza?” Clark smirks at the memories this ordinary sentence has evoked. “Hell no. The weather is getting better though,” Bruce gives him a look that is hard to read. “Wanna go for a ride?”

“Yeah, sure,” Clark agrees, perhaps a little bit too eager. “Great,” Bruce smirks, “I know a place.”

\---

The place is not some kind of a secret hideout for rich people to enjoy overpriced food in the middle of the night: Clark is pleasantly surprised when they park next to a 24/7 Big Belly Burger. “Don’t make that face,” Bruce says. “What face?”

“Like you can’t believe I’m a regular person.”

 _There are times when I should ask you the same,_ Clark thinks as they get out of the car. Inside has the décor and color scheme typical for the Big Belly Burger chain, yet somehow it stands out from the other restaurants: it feels inhabited and maybe a little used up. The shabby seats have the same charm as a bald spot on the most beloved teddy bear, just where its fur got rubbed off from loving. The place is nearly empty, except for a group of college students taking pictures of their food.

The staff immediately recognizes who just walked in: Clark notices with amusement how they all try to look taller. “Good evening, welcome to Big Belly Burger!” A girl behind the counter smiles brightly. “What can I get for you?”

“Hi, can you recommend something… filling?” Clearly Bruce is into his most public, most polished persona: a kind of flirting-but-not-really-unless-you-want-to persona. “I’d go with our local specialty, sir, the Wayne Steak Burger.” Clark has to stifle a snort. “Sounds perfect. We’ll take rare and…”

“Medium,” Clark prompts.

“Medium. Can you make the fries extra crispy?” Bruce puts a couple of hundreds into the tip jar.

Clark decides the man deserves a little mocking: “Don’t make faces, Clark,” he mumbles when they take their seats in a small booth, away from the windows and the looks of passersby, “I’m a regular person, Clark. It’s not like there’s a burger named after me, Clark, act normal.”

“You done?” Bruce asks with a wry smile. “Not quite yet,” Clark imitates Bruce’s voice… “Oh, I’m Bruce Wayne, just an ordinary John Doe, I leave a hundred dollar tips at a burger house and blow thousands on clothes that aren’t even mine,” …poorly.

“I can return them if it bothers you so much.” The fight is once again on the verge of becoming a reality. “No, I didn’t… I don’t know,” Clark wipes his glasses with a napkin to avoid looking him in the eyes. “I’m not… Look, no one ever gave me such an expensive gift. I know that for you it’s peanuts but just… Give me a heads up next time, all right?”

“That would ruin the surprise.”

“Yeah, well, there’s a difference between a surprise box of chocolates and a heap of designer clothes.”

“So you wanna keep them or not?”

“I mean…” Clark never imagined to be in a situation like this: trying to draw the line on how much his filthy rich boyfriend can spend on presents for him. Hiding from the government, faking identities – suddenly all of those problems were a piece of cake. And to think he used to be worried about not being able to buy jewelry for Lois. “Yeah, okay. They’re nice clothes. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Bruce says softly. Clark makes sure that no one is looking at them and pokes his foot under the table. “You could just ask me to leave my toothbrush at your place, you know,” he grins, but Bruce does not say anything. In fact, he turns his eyes to the wall, kind of like he is ashamed of something. Clark sighs. “You’ve bought me a toothbrush, haven’t you?”

“Vanilla milkshakes, the best in Gotham!” The waitress announces cheerfully. “On the house,” she leaves their drinks on the table, then winks at Bruce and turns on her heel, hips swaying as she walks away. They look at each other in silence, holding back laughter. “It’s pretty darn good,” Clark says after the first sip. “Not as good as the ones I’ve had in Smallville though. Nothing could ever top that.”

“I can’t even remember the last time I’ve had one of those,” Bruce says, “but since it’s a cheat day…” If anyone else was sitting there, it would be just that – drinking some milkshake through a red and white straw. However the memory of Bruce kneeling, of what he can do with his tongue, how his lips looked like when they were pursed tightly around… “Clark.” He flinches visibly when the sound of his name snaps him back to reality. “Seeing something you like?” There is a creamy drop in the corner of Bruce’s lip and it takes all of Clark’s willpower to stay in place. “You’ve got, uhmm…” He points at his own mouth to address the issue and does not understand why on Earth is he blushing right now. Thankfully their food arrives: the waitress bends over so hard that her breasts nearly fall into Bruce’s plate. It should be noted that Big Belly Burger does not even provide waitressing services. Funny how the whole world can provide for you once you become famous. “Here you go! Enjoy your meal!” Truth be told, she is very pretty; definitely has the potential to be a great billionaire girlfriend. She would never complain about receiving luscious gifts. Perhaps Clark should be more like her. “You’re better-looking.”

“What?” Clark asks mindlessly. Instead of clarifying, Bruce gives him that one sided smirk of his. “How’s your burger?” He asks curiously.

“Good,” Clark finally focuses on the taste. “Like really, really good.”

“But you ate a better one in Smallville.”

“Everything is better in Smallville.”

“Have you ever wanted to go back?” It is obvious that he is not asking whether Clark misses the countryside or not. It is about the cape. The mission. The life before. “I don’t know. There’s no turning back anyway, right? Too much has happened already to just quit. So, I try not to think about it too often.”

“Good call,” Bruce nods and takes another bite. For a long while no one utters a word, both busy with their meals. Clark appreciates that they can spend time together without talking and it never feels weird. They are resting. Shockingly, Gotham seems to be peaceful as well, bathed in cold raindrops. Every now and then someone will make a comment on the current events or what they were doing in the past few days. Clark tries to get something out of Bruce regarding his nightly activities, but the man deflects the questions with practiced ease. Maybe it is for the better: no one likes to talk about work on a date. _We’re on a date,_ Clark realizes. He must have made a funny face because Bruce asks: “What?”, smiling but a little confused. “Nothing,” he is smiling too, but it is too hard to explain the sudden flutter in his chest. Bruce wants him, here in public and at his home, in his life. Looks like they are… going steady, and it takes Clark's breath away.

“You know, I’ve been wondering about something,” Clark says after they have finished eating.

“I’m listening,” Bruce sounds a little tense, which is quite endearing.

“You used to call me pet names… When we met. You don’t do that anymore.”

“I call everyone pet names,” Clark can guess what kind of people Bruce has in mind when he says _everyone._ “It doesn’t mean anything,” he shrugs his shoulders and picks up the last fry. “I kinda… liked it, you know,” Clark admits.  

“Really?” Bruce raises one eyebrow. “Which ones?”

“Sunshine’s cute,” he can feel himself going red in the face again. “Baby is pretty nice.”

“And the other ones?” He knows. And Clark knows. No need to pretend otherwise. “The other ones were fine, too.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Bruce’s voice has turned a bit more raspy. “Although I’ve gotta ask you something first.”

“What is it?” Bruce gets bonus points for not sounding too smug when he asks: “Who’s paying?”

\---

On the way back, the radio starts playing sappy songs from the 80s. “No, please!” Clark protests when Bruce tries to change the station. “I love this song!” And so they drive along to the tune of “With you I’m born again”.

“You don’t like it.” Clark’s assumption is based on the way Bruce’s frown gets deeper and deeper with every word. “It’s kitschy.”

“Kitschy doesn’t equal bad.”

“Didn’t say it’s bad. Makes sense that you like it.”

“How so?”

“Sounds like something you’d have on a cassette,” Bruce mocks him. “You probably played it in your red pickup truck. Usually when you were driving a pretty girl home after school.”

“It was yellow,” Clark rolls his eyes. “Sorry to disappoint but you’re wrong. I wasn’t very popular with girls in high school. Don’t even ask about boys.”

“They don’t know what they’ve missed.”

“You really think so?” Clark puts a hand on Bruce’s thigh, making small circles with his index finger. They are already on the Wayne’s property, so there is no real danger that someone will see them. He is pleased to notice that the touch made Bruce hold his breath. “Were you driving girls home after school, mister Wayne?” He asks, his hand making its way up lazily. “After school, no,” Bruce smirks. “After parties though? That’s a different story.”

“Mmm. I bet it was a limousine and you weren’t even driving.”

“Wrong,” Bruce denies, and then stops the car. They are in the middle of the road, somewhere nearby the lake house but too far to get there quickly on feet. Clark watches, puzzled, as Bruce kills the engine but leaves the radio on. “First, I’d take them somewhere secluded. To look at the stars, of course.”

“Of course,” Clark echoes, his mouth getting dry. “I’d let them choose the radio station,” Bruce continues, “and then I’d make sure we’re both comfortable,” he tilts the backrest of his seat so he can get into a semi reclining position. Friendly fires glimmer in his eyes when he pats his knees invitingly. Clark’s eyebrows go up. “Seriously?”

“Unless you don’t want to,” Bruce says. It would take a bigger man than Clark to resist. He climbs on top of Bruce, struggling within the limited space. Somehow it works out. “What would be your next move?” Clark asks, licking his lips unconsciously. Bruce does not say anything, just stares into his eyes like he has never seen something so beautiful… _Oh._ “Damn, you’re good.” Heat rises in Clark’s loins, making him rub his crotch against the hard, muscled body beneath. Bruce takes off his glasses, tosses them aside, and then kisses him delicately. It is just a press of lips on lips, but it is enough to ignite something dirtier, and is this not the ultimate teenage fantasy – necking in a nice car parked in a forest, radio playing ballads, raindrops falling down the windshields? “Now for this part…” Bruce whispers into his ear, “This is where I’d try to get to the second base.”

“I don’t know about that,” Clark teases, “Ma warned me that boys only want one thing.”

“Baby, you know I’m nothing like them,” Bruce pouts, sliding his palms up and down Clark’s sides. “Let’s make a deal, I’ll show you mine if you show me yours,” Clark is already taking off the coat, “but don’t tell anyone, okay?”

“I promise.” Within seconds they are both shirtless, sharing kisses that somewhere along the way became more urgent. To Clark’s delight, he can feel Bruce getting hard. They are frotting against each other with no hurry, their pants still in the way. “What if I told you that you can make it to the third base?” Clark moans, fingernails digging into Bruce’s exposed chest. “I’d love that, baby.” They fumble with their underwear for a moment, bringing their erections closer. It is hard to distinguish who moaned first. “You know I never do this, right?” Clark still has some cheekiness up his sleeve. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone,” Bruce squeezes their dicks hard, “my good boy.” The windshields got misty from their hot breaths. It is inelegant and desperate and perfect. Clark’s orgasm is a real surprise – he thought he would last longer. Meanwhile he has to hide his face into the crook of Bruce’s neck, embarrassed by how quickly he got to the end. “If you could just…” Bruce is panting, sweat dripping from his temple, finally unable to draw out another word. Clark leans on the head rest and jacks him off, his moves faster than humanly possible. It works wonders: the man underneath him, so strong, so powerful, is nothing but a sweating, mewling mess. “Come on,” Clark encourages him, “I wanna watch you come…” And then it happens, hot and sticky, with Bruce grunting loudly, almost like coming at someone’s command made him angry. Clark brings their foreheads together, looks deep into Bruce’s soft, October eyes, and in that moment the realization hits him hard, shattering everything he ever knew: _I’m in love._

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all for your patience. I hope the wait was worth it!


End file.
